


A First Time for Everything

by spookywoods



Series: Drarropoly 2018 [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Drarropoly: A Drarry Game/Fest, M/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-16
Updated: 2018-11-16
Packaged: 2019-08-24 08:24:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16636355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookywoods/pseuds/spookywoods
Summary: “Well, Draco? Is it? Is it Harry Potter?”You’ve never been so sure of anything in your entire life.Or the one where Draco experiences a series of heavy emotions for the first time.





	A First Time for Everything

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first submission for Drarropoly Game/Fest.
> 
>  **Board Position:** Go-To Azka-Damn-->Azka-Damn  
>  **Prompt:** Drarry + First Times in 690 words or less
> 
> Thank you to [Kristina](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kristinabird) for being the best beta a writer could ever ask for

It’s the first time you’ve ever been this afraid.  
  
Sure, you’ve been fearful on many occasions. But this? This is different. This is shaky hands opening up the Vanishing Cabinet for the first time. This is your stomach churning as your sick stains the bottom of the loo for the fifth night in a row. It’s the skin on the back of your neck becoming so oversensitive that you’ve resigned yourself to acute hyperawareness. It’s as if your body’s Divined that its time of death has been set, and the warning bells refuse to cease ringing. You learn to ignore them. Your body is nothing to you anymore. Because it’s your parents’ lives in your hands, and you’re spiraling.

 

  
  
You’ve never been this cold before.  
  
It’s a different sort of thing, though. You aren’t so much cold as you are resigned to the chill of death. It’s settling in around you having slashed its way across your chest and bathed you in your own blood. It’s waiting for the final breath to escape you before staking its claim. The cold is a welcomed benediction. The cold is your failure and your salvation, and _he_ gave it to you in one hateful curse. A _Saviour_ indeed.  

 

  
  
_“Well, Draco? Is it? Is it Harry Potter?”_  
  
You’ve never been so sure of anything in your entire life.  
  
Potter stands before you, his eyes glowing green in the dim light. He’s a mess, but the jinx distorting his face cannot mask his unmistakable tells. He smells of dirt and sweat and desperation, and you can quantify all the lines of his body and his face and his stupid unruly hair in a matter of seconds. You even recognise the ridiculous way he ties his shoes. You hear his voice in your head asking you to help him. Challenging you to be the Saviour in this scenario…it feels wrong. You feel wrong. But it isn’t you, it’s the side you’re standing on.

_“I can't—I can’t be sure.”_

 

  
  
You’ve never been more relieved in your entire life.  
  
While the Dark Lord is vanquished, and most certainly gone, the relief doesn’t flood you at his defeat. The vise around your heart only releases the moment you realise Potter is alive. You watch the rise and fall of his chest and you know that somehow the world will be alright. They still have him. And even though you’ve come out of the War unscathed, you’re not sure how much of _you_ actually made it through.

 

  
  
You’ve never felt hope like this before.  
  
You put your hand to the warm patch of skin on your cheek, sure you’ve imagined the entire thing. Potter leaning in, Potter pulling away. Potter telling you he’d see you later as if it was assured. As if it was fated. As if people just go around kissing other people and smiling like loons escaped from the madhouse. Hope blooms where you had thought only grey and bleak things grew.

 

 

You never thought you’d say _“I love you”_ and actually mean it.  
  
But _“I can’t stop thinking about you”_ turns into _“I love you”_ without permission, and you throw your hand over your mouth in panic. The words were easy, thoughtless, but nothing with him has ever been easy or thoughtless. The complexities of your feelings take root in the past and the future, in the images of who he is and was and who you’ve always been. You think his stoic response might have ended your life but you’re still breathing.

 _“Do you really mean it?”_  
  
_“Yes.”_

 

  
  
You triumph over everyone at Wednesday Night Wizard’s poker, and he folds, so you say, _“Scared, Potter?”_ It’s the first time in years that you’re unafraid.  
  
When Granger quotes some ridiculous adage along the lines of _The more things change, the more they stay the same_ , you can’t believe you actually agree. You catalogue Harry’s gaze, the pride and amusement and subtle hints of lust, and it’s the first time you’re unequivocally happy.  
  
You can’t even stop the stupid grin that takes over your face when you agree with Granger.  
  
There’s a first time for everything.  
  


 

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment and kudos if you liked it and come scream with me about fandom nonsense on [tumblr](http://buttertyrant.tumblr.com) <3


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